


Where The Heart Is

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Following his uncomfortable trip to Vulcan both Commander Tucker and his boyfriend have cause to ponder an ancient saying.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** 4.03 "Home" takes a bit of rationalising for a T/R type. This story takes a couple of pointers from canon, then runs off with them in a way that suits my way of thinking better.  
>  In other words, there are spoilers - but its not really a canon post ep fic.  
> Unbeta'd and done for fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's anticipating some TLC after his painful visit to Vulcan. He should know, nothing's every straightforward on Enterprise...

He hadn't realised how homesick he had been until he saw her hanging there in space dock, her registry number showing up clear under the stark lighting of the maintenance hangar. Well, he acknowledged, maybe it wasn't the ship herself he had pined for all through his awkward stay with T'Pol's folks on Vulcan. It was the small, dynamic Englishman he figured would be giving the weapons division folks hell about now for the mess they were making of his forward port phase cannon.

"Hey, Commander." His own second in command, Lieutenant Hess, was the first person he stumbled over in the corridor, almost before the airlock had sealed. Dropping his bag onto the floor, Trip Tucker gave her a quick hug, asking the second most important question on his mind immediately. 

"They treatin' our baby right?"

"Nursing her almost like you do." Rolling her eyes, Hess snatched his bag and tossed it at him. "They've been warned what'll happen if they leave a finger mark on your warp coils."

"Thanks."

"Not me. Lieutenant Reed."

His smile widened until Tucker began to think his jaw might actually split. "I don't wanna think what threats he's been issuing to the armoury people."

"No threats." Falling into step beside him, his friend gave his arm a cordial punch. "He's just made damn sure nobody from _that half-baked gaggle of short-trousered theorists_ has gotten access to any critical system without him being around."

"Plenty threatening enough then." The two engineers shared a tolerant smile, and Tucker's heart swelled with joy in seeing his friend's affection for his darling. "Guess that means he's been skippin' meals again?"

Hess grinned, ducking down the left-hand fork in the corridor where he would go straight on. "I'm not telling tales on the most dangerous man in the fleet, Sir. Some of us value our hides! If you're looking for him - try the aft torpedo tubes. They're realigning the targeting scanners today."

"Talk about pickin' my moments." It had taken Enterprise's Armoury Officer weeks to set up their defensive systems to his satisfaction and Trip could still recall the wide-eyed astonishment of the whole senior staff when Captain Archer had innocently asked for a professional assessment of Jupiter Station's work. Malcolm hadn't resorted to obscenity - he seldom did, but they hadn't figured that out until much later - but he had hardly needed to. By the time he had said his piece, Trip had been in no doubt that the people in question were the biggest bunch of dumbass incompetents in the history of human civilisation.

If a single power relay had been misaligned in the weeks he'd been away, the Chief Engineer of Earth's most famous starship figured this entire quadrant of the galaxy had probably been steered toward the same conclusion.

Pausing only to toss his bag through the door of his cabin, he locked the room and headed back toward the turbolift. The torpedo launch ports were four decks below, and he was damned if he was going the whole way via ladders and Jeffries tubes. 

"Commander! We didn't expect you back yet."

"Hey, Trav..." He spun to grin at the young helmsman, the expression freezing halfway at the sight of the boomer's black eye. "What in Hell happened to you?"

"Phlox wanted to visit a bar."

Like that explained why he looked like he'd been run down by a rogue shuttlepod, Trip thought exasperatedly. "And?"

"We tried to warn him it wasn't a good idea, with all the anti-alien hostility the Xindi stirred up, but..." Mayweather lifted his hands, palms uppermost. The gesture didn't stop Trip spotting the swelling around his right knuckles. "You know how the Doc can be. Malcolm and I gave in and went to San Fran with him. _Biiig_ mistake."

A bar brawl. Involving his lover. Tucker's heart almost lurched out of his chest. "Malcolm..."

"Hey, you don't think a couple of drunks in a bar could get a hand on him, do you?" Travis shook his head, admiring envy in every word. "Phlox kind of puffed up his face like a balloon - that scared 'em off before too much damage could be done. I thought I was pretty good at unarmed combat, but... He's in the armoury if you're wondering, checking over the station team's work on the scanners. Not a mark on him."

Still shaking his head, the younger man sauntered on toward his quarters. Chuckling, Trip stepped into the turbolift and punched in his destination. At least the Armoury, with plenty of space and a private, windowless office for its boss, would be a more comfortable place than the maintenance shaft for a reunion.

And for one hell of a row. What had they been thinking of, escorting an alien - even one as persistent as Phlox - down to a planet scarred with the aftermath of a hideous alien attack?

Probably, Tucker acknowledged, that allowing their Denobulan friend to wander around their planet alone late at night was only advisable if Enterprise actually wanted a new C.M.O. assigned. He increased his pace, desperate to see for himself that Mal was really all right. No, Travis wasn't dumb enough to say the man was okay if there was visible proof to the contrary - unlike Malcolm himself, Trip remembered grimly - but until he saw that sharply-angled, handsome face for himself, he couldn't be completely content.

A handful of strangers worked on systems in the large main room, but Trip barely noticed them. His lover stood quietly beside Platform 2, arms crossed over his chest, mouth pursed into a disdainful pout as he watched every move made around him. His pale skin was unblemished, and as he tapped one foot, visibly restraining himself from either getting involved or making sarcastic comments, there was no symptom of discomfort. Trip let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

Just the smallest of sounds: the doors had been open, and Tucker had halted the instant the saw his lover. But it was enough to alert Enterprise's Chief Tactical Officer. Reed's head shot up, the stern set of his features relaxing as he identified the latest intruder. 

"Commander," he said, the sparkle in his eyes belying the formal distance of his tone.

"Lieutenant." Accepting the invitation, Trip sauntered across the room, hands clasped behind his back to prevent them reaching out of their own accord. "Everything under control?"

"I'm assured so, Sir. Would you care to look over the upgrades in my office?"

Damn, Tucker thought; he was cool. "If you can trust these guys for a few minutes unsupervised," he returned. Reed's eyes gleamed silver with the grin he would not allow his lips to show.

"After you, Sir."

Trip was certain the blast of cold air he felt when the Armoury Officer opened his office door was the merged relieved sighs of half a dozen Jupiter Station technicians.

He held himself at Attention until the door was safely shut and his lover was jamming up against him, rubbing in all the right places as their mouths met in a frantic, sloppy kiss. "Missed y'," he mumbled, a shudder running right down to his toes at the brush of English tongue against the roof of his mouth. Strong hands kneaded his buttocks, the heat of a rearing erection stabbing through Reed's jumpsuit against his thigh. "Missed you so much, darlin' Mal."

"Mmm, missed you more." Some halfwit from the station might tap on the door Trip was shoved against at any second; the soundproofing was notoriously lousy on this deck. Malcolm knew he shouldn't be butting up against his lover's magnificent body, working a coolant-stained hand between their plastered lengths to cup the glorious hardness he had missed so much. He just couldn't help himself, and the odd little strangled sobs the bloody fool was expelling with every finger-flex weren't doing a thing to discourage him. "Kiss. Now."

"Demandin' lil' devil." The younger man's ardent assault was turning him on beyond belief. Trip gave an experimental shimmy, bending his knees enough to bring their cocks to the same height, butting together in delirious greeting. After his weeks on arid, emotionless Vulcan, Mal's passionately human welcome was an overwhelming relief. "Wantcha."

"I'd - fuck, yes, like that! - never have guessed." The Englishman writhed against him, head fallen back, well-cut lips drawn into a sensual snarl of bliss. Tucker stretched down to suck hard at the exposed flesh of his neck. "Can't - not here!"

"No." He couldn't have stopped pushing against the smaller man's hard, inviting body if all the Admirals of Starfleet had been lined up bawling orders, but Malcolm Reed hadn't made his current post by being undisciplined. With a painful moan, he eased himself off the Southerner, spinning on his heel to study the immaculate order of his desk until his heart rate slowed down and the tent in his pants began to deflate. "Bloody Nora! How long 'til I'm off duty?"

"We're in spacedock, Malcolm. You could always trust the local guys."

"As you would if they were buggering about with your warp coils?"

Tucker gave him his sultriest smile. "Darlin', ah'd sooner be playin' with yours."

"Cretin." Smiling broadly, Malcolm wagged a long finger his lover's way. "Anyway, I wasn't expecting you back so soon. Everything all right on Vulcan?"

Was it? Trip shrugged, moving to sag on the corner of Reed's tidy desk. "Guess so. T'Pol's done what her Momma wanted an' married this Koss guy. He don't care for her any more than she does for him, but she's kind 'f upset about what her choices have done to T'Les, so she went through with the ceremony."

"She's still coming back, right?" He would be saddened if she did not, Reed was astonished to discover. Despite her intimacy with Trip and the comet-flares of resentment he felt every time she went near the man, he would miss T'Pol if she chose to remain with her new spouse.

"Oh, she'll be back. Figure she feels more at home with us irritatin' humans than her own kind now." Malcolm hopped up onto the desk beside him, resting his glossy dark head against Trip's shoulder while his arm snaked its way around the taller man's trim waist. "Kinda sad to see her doing her duty to Momma like that, knowin' it's not what she wants..."

"Knowing a thing or two about disappointing one's parents, I sympathise." He hadn't realised how bloody cold he had felt, Reed considered, lacking the infusion of Tucker warmth for the last few weeks. "I suppose you felt a bit of a spare willy at the wedding, so to speak?"

Trip snorted. "You got one helluva way with words, anyone ever told you that?" he wondered, ruffling his partner's hair. "Anyway, forget T'Pol. I wanna know what you've been doing. I heard somethin' about a bar brawl..."

"You've seen Travis," Reed diagnosed. Shifting to stare down at his angular profile, Trip gave a curt nod.

"You _look_ okay," he admitted.

"Took a smack in the ribs and a boot in a rather more sensitive region, but other than that... Trip Tucker, what in Heaven's name are you - oh, yes!"

"Gotta kiss it all better, darlin'." From his crouch between the younger man's legs, Trip grinned wickedly into suddenly hooded storm-cloud eyes. He breathed wetly through the tenting fabric of his lover's uniform, revelling in the whimpered response. "You're a damn fool, letting Phlox drag you down there."

Strong hands curled around his shoulders, hauling him up to gaze right into Malcolm's hazy eyes. "You'd have let him go alone? Don't you think the morgue's been used enough this mission?"

"Point taken." Reed licked his upturned lips, and it was all Tucker could do not to drag him into his arms and devour him right there on the desk. "Gonna tell me what happened?"

"Nothing to tell." They'd warned Phlox - reminded him Earth had changed since his last visit, before an alien race had decided to rip a giant gouge out of the populous planet, slaughtering millions. "He wouldn't listen to reason - not for the first time. Travis and I formed a security escort, and I'm going to have to give that boy additional defensive training as soon as we're clear of the docking clamps. He completely forgot tactics and just barrelled into the fray with fists flailing."

"Do I wanna know what state the other guys are in?"

Reed grinned. "Oh, I went easy on them. The brass wouldn't like headlines about Starfleet officers beating up drunken civilians, even in defence of a comrade."

"Guess not." He was safe, relaxed, and all Trip's. The Southerner leaned in for a chaste brush of lips against brow, conscious of the shiver running through the younger man. "I've missed you, Mal."

"Missed you too. Dinner, my quarters?"

"Jus' tell me when, Handsome."

"Eighteen hundred hours? The morons are due out of here ten minutes to... that'll give me time to check their fumbling efforts through."

Trip allowed himself one more peck to the end of his lover's nose. "I'll be there."

*

"So: what are your plans, now you're back early?"

The quiet question sliced his languid post-coital daze with the precision of a laser cutter. Trip cracked open a heavy-lidded blue eye, his heart melting at the sight of Malcolm Reed stretched out on his back beside him, one arm thrown up over his head, the other hand tracing random patterns against Trip's belly. "Um - this?" he suggested, voice still rusty from one too many howl of tumultuous release. Sitting down was going to be a big no-no tomorrow.

Shadowed grey eyes caressed his hopeful face. "I'm going to London in the morning."

"Shit."

Not eloquent maybe, but Tucker couldn't summarise his disappointment any more succinctly. "I forgot," he finished lamely.

"Wish to God I could, but I promised Maddie." His sister would give him hell for years to come if he let her down at the last minute, and in his deepest heart Malcolm knew he would do nothing of the sort. "I'm on the early shuttle to make the morning flight to Gatwick, coming back Monday afternoon. It's only three nights."

"We can handle that." His original plan had been a full month on Vulcan, at T'Pol's request: protection against her mother, he figured. But she'd given in and married the man chosen for her in childhood, and however distant they might be, he'd snatched the excuse of their _honeymoon_ to get himself back home to Malcolm.

"I'm going to hate leaving you."

"Didn't enjoy it myself darlin', but you gave your word and I know you won't break it."

"Bloody stupid sense of honour."

"Hey, it's one of the things I love about you." Raising himself onto his elbow, Trip gave his lover a solemn stare. "Your word is your bond, and no matter what the cost t' yourself, if you say you'll do a thing, it gets done. Go catch up on the gossip with your sister. I'll be here waiting when you come home."

"Home." He said the word with wonderment, as if it were as alien as Risa or Tarkelia. "You could go down to Earth too, you know. Visit your parents."

The peachy flush of exertion drained from the blond's smooth skin. "I'm not sure that'd be such a good idea," he mumbled, evading the troubled grey gaze. "I mean - it's not the same, and..."

"Trip." It wasn't easy to adopt _Senior Officer_ mode while naked, dishevelled and utterly sated: remembering that his companion was actually his superior didn't make it any easier. "They've already lost their baby daughter. Don't you think they'll need their oldest son?"

"It's just so hard, Mal." Tears brimmed in his eyes, heightening their blueness. With a gentle fingertip, Reed brushed them away. "To think of seein' my folks, and Lizzie just... not there."

"Believe it or not, I understand. If it had been Maddie..."

"You're braver than me. You'd do what you had to."

"I'd try." Deliberately putting himself up for a beating at Suliban hands; lying on the hull with a Romulan mine spike through his leg; being shot in the back by a deranged hologram. Combined, they wouldn't be as painful as an encounter with Captain and Mrs Reed _sans_ the buffer of Madeleine's compassion. "And so will you. You don't want to lose them, and I'm absolutely certain they don't want to lose you."

"Yeah." Whatever he said, it was rank cowardice that had kept Charles Tucker the Third away from his parents' home so far, and Trip hated cowards. "Maybe if I called in for a day or two... just while you're away..."

"I'll be here when Enterprise ships out again, love. You might not see your family again for a year or more."

"I'd sooner be with you than anybody else: on Enterprise, Earth or anywhere. You know that, dontcha?"

Did he? Instinct and experience screamed no but something deep inside flared up like a supernova screaming yes. Malcolm risked a cautious nod. Trip clicked his tongue.

"I'm a patient man, darlin'. I'll persuade y' in time. Got enough of that?"

"After Monday - all the time in the universe. You'll visit your parents?"

"You going to see yours?"

Reed grimaced the way he had when Chef had served up Ankoran Lettuce and he'd been the first to discover it tasted like burned plastic. "For the benefit of all concerned - no. Maddie will assure them I'm still kicking."

"Must be rough." Expressions of sympathy usually earned physical proof of just how hard Malcolm Reed could kick, so Trip kept his tone carefully neutral. Reed arched a brow.

"I'm used to it. If you don't like the sound of it... make sure it never happens to you."

"Subtle, Malcolm." He stopped the smaller man's chuckle with a tender, tongue-tangling kiss. "You promise you'll be back here Monday night?"

"Maddie's back at work on Monday morning. I'll have the weekend with her, spend a few hours wandering, then catch the midday shuttle back to the States. Should be here by - what, twenty hundred hours?"

"I'll make sure I'm back too." Damn, just making plans to separate started frost settling in his belly. "We got a few hours before you need to be on that shuttle, Mister Reed."

"And you have arrangements to make if you're travelling with me to Earth, _Mistah_ Tucker."

"Shit."

A quick call to the bridge and his transport was booked. "Now, what was ah sayin' about us havin' time, lover?"

Malcolm gave him a look that somehow combined seductiveness with utter exasperation. "You don't half talk too much," he growled, stopping the protesting reply in the best possible way. 

It was breakfast time before either man could form a coherent sentence again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Malcolm's turn to ponder the meaning of home and family.

"Malcolm!"

He had survived the journey across the Atlantic in relative peace: a few curious stares, a few whispers among civilian passengers unaware of his Starfleet Security sensitive hearing. _Is that... Enterprise... Reed?_

He had kept his head in his book and dodged eye contact. Not really, he acknowledged, a possibility with a small blonde tornado roaring across the spaceport shrieking her delight in seeing him look so well.

"It's good to see you too, darling." A genuine smile lighting his serious features, Malcolm swung the excited woman into a bone-crushing embrace, drinking in the light floral scent, the exuberant warmth that was his little sister. "But d' you think you might leave strangling me until later?"

"Sorry." Breathlessly laughing, Madeleine Reed unwound her arms from her brother's neck and stepped back, surveying him critically. "Gosh, you do look good in all black, Mal! Decent journey?"

"Passable." He picked up the duffle bag he'd dropped in readiness for her excited assault, tucked his free hand through her arm and steered her rapidly toward the doors. "You look marvellous, by the way. Lost weight?"

"I'm glad _someone_ notices," she pouted. "Mum and Dad were over a fortnight ago, saw me munching rabbit food and thin air, and - not a word."

"Please don't tell me you're surprised?" If there was one thing made him angrier than their disdainful treatment of himself, it was the callous disregard they handed out to their daughter. "They _have_ gone back?"

"Only came over for an admiral's retirement do and to inspect my new pad. No, I'm driving - you're my guest, darling, sit down, shut up and try not to cringe too obviously every time I brake."

"Yes, Ma'am." With a smart salute, he slid into the passenger seat of her battered old vehicle, concentrating on the breathing exercises that had brought him through a Suliban beating and almost roasting on the hull. 

It was good to see her again. For a few moments the aching empty space in his heart usually filled by Trip didn't hurt so much. As they waited for a break in the traffic stream, he stretched across the gap and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Malcolm, I'm trying to concentrate!" She swatted him away, leaving her hand against his cheek a moment longer than needful. "I'm glad you're here, too."

*

Madeleine's new flat was twice the size of her old, which in itself had been, Malcolm mused, three times the size of even Captain Archer's accommodation aboard Enterprise. "Very flash," he drawled, admitting the London skyline from the lounge's panoramic windows. "If it wasn't so bloody chilly, I'd be suggesting we have dinner on the terrace."

"And if you weren't so used to hermetically sealed starships, brother dear, you wouldn't be shivering in your coat on a perfectly ordinary day." She thrust a steaming mug of tea into his extended hands, throwing herself onto a big brown leather couch which gave her a fine view of the cityscape and the man admiring it. "At ease, Lieutenant! You _are_ allowed to sit down without asking, you know."

"Aye, Captain." Grinning hugely, he let himself fall into the kind of lazy slouch Lieutenant Reed of Enterprise would consider shockingly improper. "And it's all right. You're allowed to begin the interrogation."

"I hope you've brought lots of pictures." Blue-grey eyes met grey-blue, both pairs gleaming with barely-repressed merriment. "You _know_ I've always had a thing for tall, gorgeous blonds!"

*

They had just finished dinner when her comm. channel began to bleep insistently. "Oh, hell!" Madeleine exclaimed, her smooth brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, Mal - it's the parents. Mum wanted to see you for herself."

"And Dad wants a row. Standard protocol, Miss Reed."

She blocked his way to the kitchen, sweeping the armful of dirty dishes from him. "It takes two to argue, Malcolm. Hello!"

"Good evening, Madeleine." Good God, if it were possible the Old Man looked more miserable than ever! "Your Mother and I were wondering if your brother had arrived as planned."

"I have, sir." Schooling his features into composure, Malcolm stepped around her, unconsciously adopting his best parade-ground stance. "Hello, Mum."

"Malcolm darling, I _am_ glad! You look well."

They were strangers he thought, briefly wondering if they felt the same pang of regret that twitched his guts. A lean, hatchet-featured man and a comfortable, round-faced woman in a patterned dress and woollen cardigan, supposedly the two people in the universe he should be closest to.

And he felt - nothing but faint sadness. "I am. Thank you."

"I believe you were mentioned in despatches several times." Somehow, Stuart Reed managed to turn a compliment into an accusation. Malcolm bowed his head.

"Captain Archer was kind enough to commend all the senior staff, yes."

"I suppose Starfleet does award medals?"

"That will be nice, dear."

"Damned gaudy showy _American_ things, I expect."

"I'll be sure to wear any that are offered discreetly, Dad."

Reed Senior narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring with displeasure. "Your mother has been concerned about you, Malcolm. This... Expanse seems to have been a rather dangerous place."

"No more so than the North Atlantic during Earth's wars."

Bloody Hell, he felt more comfortable having breakfast with his commanding officer than a long-distance comm. chat with his own parents! No wonder Trip thought the Reed clan _real damn weird._

His father grunted. "I dare say not. You're happy aboard Enterprise?"

"She's the best vessel we have, with the finest captain. It's an honour to serve in her."

"That's not what I asked." He could sense Maddie shifting from one foot to the other in the doorway, reluctant to go far lest a referee be required. "Are you happy?"

"Extremely happy, yes."

Reeds don't show their feelings. It was one of the first rules he had learned. "I hope you've made friends, Malcolm."

"Yes, Mum, I have." More than friends. Family, in a way the two alien beings on the monitor could never be. "I understand you've spoken with Captain Archer."

Captain Reed sniffed.

_Ouch. That bad, eh?_

"He wanted to arrange a _birthday dinner_." It wouldn't be done in a proper service like the Royal Navy, of course. A commanding officer taking an interest in the lower orders? Discipline would crumble. The very foundations of the service would be rocked.

"Like Nelson, Captain Archer believes it's important to consider the welfare of his crew."

"One might have thought he had more important things to consider."

The hands behind his back balled into tight fists, but Malcolm kept his answer steady. "Nothing is more important than the morale of a small crew in dangerous territory. Every crewman on Enterprise would walk through fire on Captain Archer's orders. His methods are... different, but they're damned effective."

"Malcolm, please!" Dismay filled Mary Reed's mild protest; the nearest to an expression of horror she could form that her son might dare contradict his father on a subject Stuart held himself an expert in. "He told us you're an armoury officer."

"Armoury and Chief Tactical Officer." Why he bothered, he wasn't sure. Complete strangers might be impressed by his grandiose title, but as long as it remained a Starfleet designation he might as well be saying Chief Cook and Bottle-Washer to them. "You're well, Mum? Grandma and Gramps all right?"

"Very well, yes." Her husband glanced over his shoulder at her, and Mary Reed subsided. "Grandmother Reed was delighted to hear you're a weaponry officer."

"And she quoted your grandfather: _Pity the seven seas aren't big enough for the boy_."

"I'm sure she did." Tiring of the whole charade, Malcolm stepped back from the screen, urging his sister into vision with a wave. "I'm sure you'd like to talk to Madeleine, so I'll leave you in peace, shall I?"

"I assume Starfleet permits insubordination," Captain Reed grunted. Malcolm bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

"Hardly! But Starfleet doesn't hide behind its own prejudices either. I'm glad you're both well, but I left Enterprise at four o'clock this morning..."

"Of course." Only Reeds could identify the mutual sighs of relief expelled by father and son. The conversation might be chilly, but they had avoided the full-blown shouting-match. "Safe journeys, Malcolm."

"Thank you." He didn't relax until the channel closed off.

"Well, that wasn't so bad." Maddie's soft hands came down onto his shoulders. He grimaced.

"Rather civilised, really. Leave the dishes to me, love: I'll just have time to stack the washer before the news comes on."

"The perfect house guest." Pecking his cheek, Madeleine allowed him to fuss about the dining room until it was immaculate, flicking on the vidscreen. The slightly off-key sound of his singing floated through the open doorway. Smiling, she turned down the programme's volume.

Then the comm. channel beeped again.

"Where are we, Piccadilly bloody Circus?" she groused, hopping up to activate the unknown channel. "Oh. He- _llo_."

"Miz Reed?" The man on screen was blond and good-looking with a ready grin and an open air of geniality she warmed to immediately. "Ah'm real sorry to call unexpectedly. Mah name..."

"Commander Tucker, it's a pleasure to meet you: and please call me Maddie. Mal's told me so much about you I feel I know you already."

When he actually blushed she decided he was even more adorable than he was handsome. "He's just doing the dishes at the moment - let me give call him in. I assume he's not expecting..."

"I'm missing him even more than I expected," Trip admitted, appraising her as frankly as she studied him. There was none of Malcolm's subtlety about Madeleine. Cool, light eyes wandered openly over his features, a pert, pretty mouth turning upward in obvious approval. "My parents pretty much ordered me off to call him, 'cause I've not been able to sit still all day..."

"I'm very glad they did. I was afraid Malcolm might try and hide you from me." He was amused by her flirtatiousness; she was delighted by his frankness. "But he's awfully good at punishing troublesome little sisters who hog his toys, so if you don't mind, I'll call him in and leave the two of you to whisper sweet nothings."

"Ma'am, are you sure you're Malcolm's sister? I know you're not a close family, but he's not the kind of guy..."

"Just never tell him he's cute or adorable, Commander."

"Trip," he corrected, grinning broadly. "And don't worry: made that mistake once, won't be doin' it again."

Madeleine rolled her eyes. "He gave me an awful Chinese burn once: my wrist was red for the rest of the day, and he was only five! Malcolm! Darling, caller for you!"

"Tell 'em to piss off!"

Trip raised a hand, and with a grin the Englishwoman flipped the volume control to maximum. "That ain't no way to speak to a man who's missing you, Mister Reed!"

"Trip!"

There was a clatter from the kitchen, the sound of racing feet, and then Malcolm was before him, his usually controlled features alight with surprise and delight. "Where are you? I didn't expect..."

"At Mom's spare comm. unit in the annexe, and I know you didn't." He couldn't stop himself reaching out, caressing the image as he would the flesh-and-blood man. "I've been fidgety as a rabbit in a field full of snakes since I got here, wondering about your flight and.... well, everything. I just don't relax if I don't see you, Malcolm, so I figured - well, maybe Miz Reed wouldn't mind..."

"I've already told you, it's _Maddie_ ," she bawled over her brother's shoulder. Trip flushed.

"Bugger off, sis," Malcolm instructed, not sparing her a glance. Loudly (and through giggles) mumbling something about ill-mannered house guests, Madeleine retreated to the kitchen, firmly closing the door. Malcolm lowered the comm's volume before sinking back onto the couch, arms loosely folded, to smirk at his lover.

"Mads is a cheeky mare: hope she didn't scare you too much."

"You know it takes a lot to scare me, darlin'. She's cool."

"She'll appreciate that." Damn, but the man looked edible. "Family well?"

"Yeah." Trip cleared his throat. "And they want me to say thanks for talkin' some sense into me about coming home. It's weird - still feels like there's a big piece of my heart missing, but...

"You'll survive better together, love." Bloody platitudes, Malcolm thought grimly. Relationship advice from a Reed? A Klingon could do a better job of negotiating a peace treaty!

"Guess so. You okay?"

"Been stared at all the way across the Atlantic and given the disapproving once-over by the Old Fart. Bit of a stressful day."

"Gotta love that understatement of yours," Trip drawled, leaning close to the monitor as if he planned to whisper a secret. "Your daddy difficult?"

"Coldly disdainful rather than outright hostile. D' you know the worst thing, love? I can't raise the energy to care any more."

"If he can't see what a fine man his little boy's become, he ain't worth getting all upset for. Mom an' Dad can't wait to meet you for themselves. I've told them so much about you."

The clear vidlink showed Reed's scepticism all too plainly. "Hell, I've spent years telling them about the brilliant, funny English guy who keeps savin' my miserable ass, Malcolm! Momma knew exactly how I felt about you _waayyy_ before I figured it for myself."

"Really?" Perceptive women, Reed mused. There were far too many of them around Trip and himself: Hoshi, Madeleine, and now Mrs Tucker. "I'd best keep my distance, then. Don't want to disappoint anyone."

"You never could, darlin'." The southern drawl softened; a direct contradiction to its effect on Malcolm's nether regions. "The only person ever disappointed by Malcolm Reed is himself. The rest of the universe knows just how special you are. Promise you'll be back home Monday night?"

"I promise." He loved his sister dearly, Reed reminded himself. He even missed her home city, sometimes. He'd been looking forward to having a few days to enjoy both again.

It was a simple matter of fact that he would tick off every hour he spent enjoying them until he could return to the only place he really wanted to be. "I'll see you aboard, Mister Tucker. Twenty hundred hours, my quarters. Date?"

"Hell, yeah!" Careless of how ridiculous he looked, Trip pressed his puckered lips to his monitor, giving it a smacking, noisy kiss. After a moment's astonished consideration, Malcolm "kissed" him back. 

Twenty-hundred on Monday, he thought, whispering his farewells without registering their words, could not come soon enough.


End file.
